Where Have All The Soldiers Gone?
by Feather
Summary: A war doctor muses about the war, redemption, and the Gundam Pilots' attemptes to salvage the Colonies -- partly philosophical.


Title - Where Have All Those Soldiers Gone?

Author -Feather

Category - Gundam

Genre - Angst

Rating - PG

Author's notes - This is mainly a philosophical piece that sprang from an idea I had one night, while suffering from horrid insomnia. Oddly enough, I was reading a book on communism and World War II, so any references to it should probably be accredited to the book (I forget what it was called). I started it off with a little bit of poetry – I am not a poet in the least, but I thought that for effect it might be nice. Other than that, please keep in mind this wasn't really intended to have any magnificent writing style, or anything. Just a vent. Thank you ~ Feather

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Where have all those soldiers gone?

Ere, the battle yet has not begun.

Beckoned by the song of dawn,

They have left 'fore rising of the sun.

I have searched in vain for many days,

Nowhere can I find a living soul;

And nowhere can I find a living soul.

Where have all those soldiers gone,

Has their time come yet to pass?

Those bright young boys and their whole lives gone,

And they sleep quietly,

Quietly?

And nowhere can I find a living soul,

As the lonely wind whispers on that gray dawn's song.

They will again rise, from the depths of Hell,

Glory as their song, now, yet,

Where have all those soldiers gone?

What is the beauty of the revolution and war, as they dance hand in hand?

There was one thing that could always be said about space, about living on the Colonies: it was always deathly quiet. That deathly quiet of a thick, unnatural tranquility was filled with such a tension that it didn't feel peaceful, rather it was a nervous anxiety of waiting until that ghastly façade of peace fell, and that the apprehension was, indeed, true. An apprehension of what, he could never tell, but there was just _something_ always on the air that made it seem so illusional, so unadmittedly peaceful. And the apprehension never was true; all the more reason to feel so strange and completely trapped in a giant vortex of endless fear.

And you were trapped in your thoughts, as the darkness settled into every shadow, until the shadow couldn't be distinguished from the light. And once that darkness settled, you could never shake the feeling of the lines dissolving as fear played and echoed from the walls, and you would never be free.

Doctor Kinaid took his seat in the sleek black leather seat of his private capsule. Again, it was another day of healing: healing soldiers that had no chance of ever seeing the true water from Earth, of never breathing the true breathes of freedom that their deaths would bring, of that feeling of another death gradually ripping his soul, tearing his heart, until, one day, when he had finally become so emotionless that the deaths wouldn't bother him anymore, he would become empty of a purpose, if seeing another man die couldn't touch his soul anymore.

Silently, the ship slipped through the wreckage of a previous battle. Half-destroyed mobile suits floated listlessly through the air, pure wreckage from pure hatred everywhere. And there were the bodies. After every battle, doctors tried to save as many as they could, and he did so often. However, those who were too injured to even try to save were left to die, and, although they tried to identify as many as possible, those who were not found by relatives were left to float through space. It was a cruel thing, and he knew it, but what could he do? The Federation had ordered it. Those words closed the case, and left no room for protest. He closed his eyes as the ship started through the masses of bodies.

The driver called back to him, saying they would be landing shortly, and abruptly, he opened his eyes and stoically composed his face. He turned on a dim light, and, instinctively, he closed his eyes again. After his eyes adjusted to the light, he glanced in his cool window, to make sure he wasn't too rumpled. His hair, a brown frosted with gray from stress, was neatly coifed. His eyes were a weary, sorrowful blue, and he was startled when he saw they held no joy. When had the war done this to him, stripped him of joy?

The light shifted, and instead of seeing his reflection on his window, he saw the drifting graveyard pass silently by. He shuddered, and reached to turn off the light. His hand was shaking as he reached over to press the switch. _Funny_, he thought, _as I've grown so used to war it normally doesn't bother me. _Realizing the irony of that statement, he automatically shuddered, and a cool wave of disgust trickled down his spine.

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Those damned Gundams, he thought, trying to look to see if his hands were still twitching, _they are the ones carrying out this war_. He closed his eyes again, and let his head fall back on the seat. _They're trying to rid us of war, but can't they see they only bring more? But they're just boys, _he thought, thinking of his own son, who was approaching fifteen. He opened his eyes, and looked again out his window.

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How is it that I can decide who to save and who not to? he thought, impulsively. Images flashed through his mind, though he frantically tried to forget: a young boy, crying for mercy; a man, begging to be saved, for his children, his wife; a young adult, crying, saying he was so sorry, he had to save his wife and that there had been no other choice; those long, empty hospital walls stretching on into infinity as each second meant making a choice of who could live and who could die. _Each man is as helpless as the next._

Resettling himself into the hard leather seat, Doctor Kinaid tried to think of other things, though those new thoughts plagued him. _It's almost Renia's sixth birthday, isn't it? Oh, it's so funny how quickly time flies!_ He smiled as he thought of his daughter's lovely golden curls, her high, melodious laugh, her pure fascination with every living creature. _But why is it _my _daughter that gets to laugh?_ he thought, again the thoughts of war resurfacing to his mind, _Why not those lost soldiers' children. How is it that I have been chosen to have to live with this suffering of knowing that I can do nothing to help those who have been so hurt by this war?_

Another patient that he had had several months prior came to his mind: a young boy, just shy of ten, his family lost and his entire colony destroyed, and he was ready to die, at just nine years old. _How is it that I can choose who to save and who not to, how is it that I can hold the lives of so many in my hands? My hands, my hands, they're stained with the blood of so many, and the guilt of letting so many die. Oh God, what have I done wrong to deserve this suffering, this pain?_

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How is it that I can alter the scales of fate for so many, I can decide whether they live or die? If I could know what I had done to deserve the torture of knowing I can choose who dies and who does not I would redeem myself instantly.

Now, eerily, light from an approaching colony started to reflect the sun's rays, the cool gray dawn started to light up his shuttle. Doctor Kinaid shuddered, for the dawn was not at all warm; it wasn't the bearer of life, it was the bearer of death, and each second, another innocent boy lost his life out there in the war. _Is total pacifism the way to peace?_ he found himself thinking. Often, he found himself thinking, about the war, about Relena Peacecraft's ideals. _But how would she know? She's hardly older than those Gundam pilots are, if there is any difference at all._

He rubbed his temples and sank back deeper into his chair as they started to land. _What's the point to this anymore?_ _To heal those who have been scarred by nothing I can ever cure?_ Trying to wrench his mind from any more depressing thoughts, he reached for a random book. His eyes fell upon a quote, and he felt himself start to shake once more as he read it: _'Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself -Leo Tolstoy'_

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The key to my redemption, he thought fleetingly. _I'm not going to change the world…I'm only a man, a tainted one at that. Is it selfish to try to change myself and salvage what precious little I have left? But isn't that the only way that I _can_ help those soldiers? Where have they gone, out of my mind? That is what I do, save others. Thus, the key to saving myself is saving others_.

And suddenly, Doctor Kinaid smiled, an impulsive action, conceived in grimness despite the general meaning of the gesture. Slowly, it changed to one slightly serene, however, albeit world-weary and somewhat sad. _Or have those soldiers, all those ones I've failed to save, been there the entire time, trying to tell me that this is my key?_

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Closing notes – I do not own Gundam Wing or any related titles. Any resemblance to another story is purely chance. Thank you for reading; have a nice day.


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